


isn't it a lovely night

by Taffy (Barkly)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Cunnilingus, Dom Spencer Reid, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Smut, Vaginal Sex, but it's his first time as a dom expect some awkwardness, warning: just because he's having sex doesn't mean Spencer Reid stops laying down facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkly/pseuds/Taffy
Summary: Spencer and you are still figuring out what your relationship is, exactly, but that doesn't stop you from trying out new things.





	isn't it a lovely night

**Author's Note:**

> Boy Genius stole my heart and forced me to dust off my smut-writing skills. Have fun!

It’s a quiet night in Quantico, Virginia, and for once the world seems at ease. Or at least, enough so to keep the BAU at home for some well-earned leisure time. In Spencer’s case, tonight he spends it with you, exploring new boundaries. The nature of your current relationship is still fragile in its relative unfamiliarity, but you treasure these rare moments.

Fully dressed, Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, bent over you to appreciate his handiwork. His meticulous appearance offers a stark contrast to you, naked with your hands tied to the bed, whimpering and sweaty. He smiles down at you, eyes fixed on you to take in every detail.

The furrow in your brow, the slack jaw, a drop of sweat trailing down your neck, to the heaving of your chest. His gaze moves down further, between your legs where his fingers explore the sticky aftermath of your earlier orgasm.

You whine a moan, back arching as his fingertips press against your clit. “I rather enjoyed that,” he says, the corner of his lips quirking up just a little higher. He slides in two digits with ease and inhales sharply at the resulting sound you keen out. “I'd like to try it again.. if that's alright.”

“F- fuck,” you stammer out as the fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate. During the first round Spencer observed your every response, every tiny reaction, and now he is ready to apply his newfound knowledge for one singular goal; to explore your limits until he finds the brink and pushes you over it.

“What do you say? Ready for more?” he asks, stilling his hand—and the sudden lack of stimulation is somehow a worse torture than its continued onslaught on your body. Whether Spencer's denial is to give you a chance to answer or a devious hint at his intentions, you have no idea.

You breathe with large gulps, a poor attempt at controlling the swirling chaos in your body. Mixed signals crowd your overstimulated brain, screaming for more yet flinching away from Spencer's eager touch. At the lack of a response he leans over you, his nose brushing over the length of your neck as he moves up to press a kiss underneath your ear. His lips, dry but soft, linger on your skin as he waits for your answer.

Instinctively, your hands reach out to him but the impulse is denied by the rope binding you to the headboard of the bed. “Please, Spence.” The words come out wheezy, a stuttering pitch to your voice. “ _Please_.”

A small laugh accompanies his smile as he shakes his head, his unoccupied hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Please what?” he asks, infuriatingly. “What do you want me to do?”

His thumb finds your clit and you bite your lip with a soft cry, toes curling into the sheets as your body twists under him. “Again,” you gasp. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Spence, I want-”

“Hm?” The query sounds innocent, but there is a self-assuredness to his smile from knowing he is the one rendering you speechless, that it's his fingers doing this to you, that your every bodily response is under his control. Just a few midnight trysts had already been enough to build his confidence—not that you ever doubted his ability to learn _fast_. “What is it? Do you want me to fuck you, is that it?” His thumb presses down hard as he punctuates the crude word and you moan loudly.

You nod vigorously, desperation seeping into your arousal. “Yes!”

Spencer's lips brush over your ear, his breath raising the hairs on your neck. “I, ah, I want you to say it.”

You turn your head to face him, his earnest brown eyes boring into you. Those intense eyes flicker away for just a moment. It's not hesitation, just a split-second to process, to keep the risk of being overwhelmed at bay. All of this is still new to him, a deeper exploration of his curiosities. He is still adjusting to the dominant role, a polite edge to his domination that feels both counter-intuitive and natural at once. You find yourself struggling to distinguish between a genuine search for your consent, or a means of asserting his control over you, compelling you to say what he longs to hear. Perhaps it is both.

The threat of overstimulation fading away, you manage to steadily meet his gaze. “Please,” you breathe, “I need you. I need you inside me, please. Spence...” You finish with a whine, arching your back as you speak.

His lips twitch. “Just my fingers?” Slowly he moves his hand, curling his fingers in a way that proved a pleasing catalyst earlier. As predicted, your hips buck into his hand. Spencer lets out a breathy laugh, delighted at the accuracy of his working knowledge of your pleasure points. “Or is there something else?”

“You- you're really going to make me say it, aren't you.” You struggle to string together the sentence, but succeed at shaky smile.

“I'd love that,” he says, a quiet fondness in his voice unfitting the lewd nature of his request. He kisses your forehead, continuing the slow rhythm of his fingers. You tilt up your chin, trying to lead him into a kiss but Spencer denies you, using his free hand to press down gently on your collar bone, fixing you in place.

The steady motion of his fingers spreads a deep burn through you, but you know he won't let you come like this, not again. And despite the bulge straining in his pants, you also know Spencer has the patience to wait for your answer till the end of time. After all, you are dealing with the man who sat through a double-feature of movies based on Arthur C. Clarke novels without even the tiniest of fidgeting.

“Fuck me.” You moan, drawing out the sound just to make Spencer squirm—and there is an instant flush on his cheeks, delightful even in its subtlety. “I want you, _need_ your cock inside me. Please, Spence, fuck me so hard there won't be anything on your brilliantly busy mind but _me_.”

Even his ears turn red as you babble at him, and Spencer finally allows you that kiss. It's frustratingly soft, as though he wants to take his time to perfectly mold your lips together. His tongue drags over your bottom lip and you gladly open up to him to let him explore at ease. He shifts position, sitting on the bed with a knee on either side of your waist. Your cry is muffled when his fingers leave you, and you arch up in frustration at the sudden emptiness.

He breaks away with a contented sigh, eyes closed as he nuzzles his nose against yours. Just taking the opportunity to enjoy the moment, to linger on the simple pleasure of getting to kiss you. “Sorry, what was that? Didn’t quite catch it,” he says with unbearable cheek. despite the innocent look on his face.

You groan in vexation, writhing underneath him. “God _dammit_ , Spence! Just fuck me already!”

“Don't worry, don't worry, I will,” he says, leaving a little peck on your nose. “Just let me...”

“Seriously?” you say as Spencer sits up and checks the ropes binding you.

His expression is focused as he brushes over the inside of your wrist, easily finding your elevated pulse. “I'm just worried about your circulation. Hypoxia is unlikely within this time-frame, but still a real danger of bondage. Not to mention nerve damage. Did you know some people are more vulnerable to nerve injury than others? And it can present itself asymptomatically, at least at first, making it tricky to-”

“Spence, babe, as sexy as it is when you show your research,” you say, staring up at him with exasperation and fondness in equal measure, “maybe there's something else to focus on right now? Like fucking me through the mattress?”

“Uh, ah yes, of course,” he says, slipping in two fingers by the knot to check the tightness. “But first, any numbness? Tingling? Other discomfort?”

“Just the discomfort of you not using that smart mouth for something more... stimulating.”

It’s a solid attempt at throwing him off, but proves ultimately futile. Spencer tilts his head to the side as he drapes himself over you, pushing his crotch against yours and uncaring for any stain you might leave on his clothes. “Oh, so it’s my _mouth_ you want?” he says, moving in for a deep kiss.

Unlike the last kiss, this time he slips inside you without hesitation, devouring your mouth as he pushes his tongue against yours. His hands slide over you with reverence, worshipping your body even as his mouth ravishes you. You moan against him, arching into his touch, and a lightheadedness takes over you that has not all to do with a lack of oxygen.

With a soft sound he breaks away from you, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as though he cannot quite bring himself to stop. “You only had to say so,” he chides, fingers wrapping around your hips as he shifts down the bed. “I can make that happen for you.”

A trail of kisses marks his way down, tongue and teeth playing at every sensitive spot he knows.

You strain against the ropes with every nip, longing to run your fingers through that soft hair of his, to guide him where you need him most—but Spencer knows to find it on his own.

But first, he takes his time, admiring his earlier work up close. You whimper at the delay; this will be the first time Spencer goes down on you and honestly? Something you have fantasised about for a while now. You are surprised at his enthusiasm, how rapidly he has latched onto the idea of oral, but apparently he is ready for multiple firsts tonight.

So far, reality is holding up remarkably well to your imagination. His breath falls on your hot skin, fingers slipping down to your thighs to hold your legs apart. That’s where his lips start their exploration, mouthing at your soft skin with tender intensity. Your eyes flutter shut, moaning quietly as you wiggle deeper into the bed, revelling in the comfort of soft sheets and the pleasure of Spencer’s attentions.

Suddenly your repose is disturbed by the sharp bite of teeth and your eyes shoot open with a tight gasp.

You stare down to Spencer, whose eyes are fixated on you with an intensity that draws another moan of surprise from you. He maintains eye-contact as he sucks at the thigh-bite and then, assured of your undivided attention, presses his tongue right against your clit.

Your hips snap up against his hands, and he makes a noise of surprise as your pelvis almost smashes into him. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he murmurs against you, tightening his grip on you.

“Can’t help it, Spence,” you say with faltering breath, your voice hitching as he puts his tongue back on you. “It’s- ah, it’s your own damn fault for being— _fuck!_ —a fucking genius with a motormouth.”

Spencer’s face twitches for a moment, but then he merely hums against you, so used to his teammates’ ribbing that your words glide right off his back. The vibration sends a thrill right through you that shuts you right up. Your jaw falls slack when he digs in properly, long licks of his tongue accompanied by little noises of enthusiasm. Spencer has never been quiet in the bedroom, behaviour not changed by him sticking his tongue inside you.

His eager moans fuel your own, your thighs trembling as he works you. Within moments his efforts evolve from mere exploration to an ardent mission to unravel you—and damn if he’s not successful.

Your every nerve ending is on fire, hands pulling uselessly at the rope to fling themselves in Spencer’s hair to keep him forever between your legs. Voice rising, you can feel the knot in your lower stomach tightening, your consciousness unravelling as Spencer pushes you to the brink of that sweet, crucial release-

And then he is gone.

You cry out, hips arching up in a desperate attempt to find his mouth again, then snapping down hard on the bed. “Spence-!”

“So... what was that about a motormouth?” Spencer says, a smug quirk to his lips as he leans on his hand, elbow resting right up against your core. His eyes never leave yours as he casually runs a thumb over his chin, wet with your juices.

“Spencer,” you whine, wiggling uselessly, a poor attempt to find friction against his arm. “Babe, you know I love that mouth of yours... Please let me come, don’t you want to make me come with that pretty mouth?”

He tilts his head with an indecipherable smile, flicking a finger at your clit. “No...” he says, prolonging the word in a hushed voice. “As tempting as that is, I think I’d rather have you come while I’m inside you.”

Yet he still lowers his head down. A long drag of his tongue through your folds relights the fire inside you, but Spencer takes it slow this time; fuelling your arousal without leading you to a climax. The pace is torturous and you are struck once again by the realisation that as far as Spencer is concerned, this can go on all night.

“God, Spence, then fuck me already!” you say, yanking at the rope.

He chuckles, the sound almost a little giddy, as though he still can’t quite believe just how desperate you are for him. “Alright then,” Spencer says, pressing a soft kiss on the bite-mark on your thigh before he straightens up. “Perhaps it’s better not to drag this out anyway. I’d hate to be interrupted by a case before I make you _scream_.” He emphasises the last word, a touch of hoarseness to his voice.

Then he is gone, his weight leaving the bed.

Spencer glances at you as he takes off his cardigan, swallowing thickly at the sight of your naked body, the heavy rise and fall of your chest. The physical distance seems to mark the return of his self-consciousness, with not enough to distract his brain from running overtime. “Are- are you still comfortable?” he asks, his attention darting up to your wrists as he speaks. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, nimble hands working fast.

“Oh, babe, with this kind of view?” you breathe, fixing your gaze on the slow reveal of Spencer’s torso. “Never been better.”

Facial muscles twitching, Spencer clears his throat. A blush creeps up his neck. “Good”—another cough—“that, that’s good.”

You use the opportunity to admire him as he strips down. Not a muscular Adonis by any means, but you don’t need that. Spencer’s appearance is delightful in so many other ways. His body is lean but fit, the inevitable result of long-term employment in the FBI. Soft hair, begging to be pulled; soft skin, that you ache to run your hands over; soft brown eyes that keep flickering to you as he undresses.

“Gorgeous,” you say, then bite your lip in encouragement at the click of his belt buckle.

He huffs a laugh. “Did you know ‘gorgeous’ comes from the Middle French ‘gorgias’? It originally referred to elegance or being fashionable, neither of which I’m particularly known for.”

“Oh, really?” you say, smiling fondly as you indulge in his obvious deflection.

“Yeah...” he says, sitting down on the bed to take off his shoes and mismatched socks. “If you go back even further, it traces back to the Old French ‘gorge’ which can be translated to throat or bosom, referring to jewelry worn around the neck.” His head disappears from sight as he leans over, the words slightly muffled.

Unable to help yourself, you lift your foot and gently brush your toes over his lower back. It’s nothing but an airy touch, but he still jolts at the contact. “Hmm, like a pearl necklace?” you ask, though your mind is not on the kind of pearls you can wear in public.

“I guess?” he says, sitting back up straight, only his underwear left. He runs a hand through his hair as he frowns at you in confusion. “I don’t-” Spencer’s frown deepens and he leans back on his hands to give you a startlingly earnest look. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

You poke a toe at his shoulder. “Could be?”

He makes a disgruntled noise as he shifts to pull off his boxers. “I’ve done research, you know. I’m aware what a pearl necklace refers to besides conventional jewelry,” he says, affronted at your assumption that he would not know.

But that’s where he’s wrong; you had been hoping he’d know exactly what you are talking about. “Then I have only one question,” you say, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Do you want to see me wear one?”

Instead of the flustered reaction you baited for, Spencer faces your grin head-on. Perhaps you’ve been teasing him too much; he’s starting to get inoculated. “Hmm, another time, maybe...” he says, and flips over on the bed to nestle between your legs, “but not today. Today I want to finish inside you.”

His hoarse voice falls on your ear, followed by his lips, which slowly trail down your neck.

“God, Spence,” you moan, his words electrifying your skin. Articulating a response proves challenging with his hands roaming your body, stroking and squeezing, rendering you nonverbal. Your jaw hangs slack uselessly, nothing more than whimpers falling past your lips—then he silences you with a sloppy kiss, clumsy as he tries to multitask while putting on a condom.

After a long, fumbling moment, Spencer slides inside you with a low groan. He breaks the kiss, mouthing along your collarbone as he helps you lock your legs around his waist. “You ready?”

You huff a half-laugh, half-moan, revelling in the sensation of his cock stretching you, the anticipation of what’s about to come. “Fuck yeah. I’ve been waiting for you, pretty boy.”

He raises his head, pulling a face at the nickname. “You’re gonna make me shut you up, aren’t you?”

“Oh no, you saw through my master plan,” you say with a toothy grin. You squeeze your legs, wrapping yourself around him a little tighter in the only way you can, with your arms out of the picture. “As expected from the FBI’s top agent.”

Spencer opens his mouth with a response at the ready, but stops, shakes his head, and simply kisses you again. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip even as he rocks his hips into you. You let out an encouraging moan, digging your heels into his lower back.

With a soft whimper he rolls against you, nipping at your lip as he finds his rhythm. He breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours, shuddering breaths falling on your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the delicious friction Spencer creates, your bound hands leaving you unable to do anything but enjoy the ride—so that’s what you do.

Guided by your directions during previous encounters, Spencer slips a hand between your bodies, easily finding your clit. You cry out, body convulsing as it’s still on the edge from the earlier denial. “Babe, oh god Spence,” you say through gritted teeth, “hold- hold off on that for now. I won’t last.” A second orgasm after all this build-up will probably finish you off for the night, and dammit, you’re not ready for this to end.

“Okay,” he gasps out, yanking his hand away as though burned. “Okay. What do you need?” Instead he finds your hair, threading the strands delicately through his fingers as he kisses your cheek.

Not even thinking about it, you blurt out your answer. “You, just you, Spence,” you say, high-pitched and urgent, “fuck me, I just need you, your cock, you inside me, _please_.”

The hand on your hip twitches at the words, then Spencer tightens his grip and switches to long, deep thrusts. Breathing hard, he keeps his eyes pinned on you, scanning for any signs of discomfort.

“Yes, that’s it, babe,” you moan, squeezing your thighs in encouragement. You don’t want him to get wrapped up in whether he’s ‘doing it right’ and help him to focus on his own pleasure instead. Then he’ll get you there too, guarantied. You’ve done this enough times now to know that. Even just seeing him unravel, hearing the soft noises he can’t help but make as pleasure overrides his hyperactive brain, the knit of his brow as he tries to keep his composure; it’s all fuel to the blaze in your lower stomach.

He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, hand in your hair tugging with surprising restraint. Perhaps an unconscious expression of his own desires, considering how much he loves for you to pull his hair. His heavy breaths heat up your skin, the steady thrust of his hips sends spasms through your abdomen and legs and you bite your lip as you keen out a tight moan.

“More,” Spencer says, the word barely more than a whine, “more, ah!”

Chest heaving, you need a second to catch enough breath for a response. “More what, babe?”

His hips stutter, the question to a rhetorical statement catching him off guard. “Please, I”—he swallows a moan, nuzzling your neck—“I just, I need-” He slams down on you, unable to verbalise an answer, but the motion makes you cry out and he latches onto your shoulder with tongue and teeth at the sound.

Quick on the uptake, you stop holding yourself back. Shameless cries, high-pitched breathing, Spencer’s name a delirious mantra to shackle yourself to reality. He grabs onto your hips like a lifeline, his thrusts turning frantic in a telltale sign of his impending climax.

“Spence, now. _Please_!” you moan, and he does not hesitate for a second before his hand finds your clit again. Your toes curl against his back, thighs clenching around him as the static in your body reverberates through you, a hazy buzzing that renders you a babbling mess. “A little higher, oh god- yes, yes right there! _Fuck_!”

His fingers slip exactly against your sweet spot and the pleasure _focuses_ right where you need it, a sudden spike of pure intensity searing through where you and Spencer connect. You convulse underneath him, rope digging into your wrists as you quickly hurl over the edge.

Spencer gasps when you tighten around him, his rhythm crumbling as the stimulation overwhelms him. His lips capture yours as he finds his own release, a series of messy kisses that do little to muffle his moans. Your name is nothing more than a whisper, a soft murmur as his kisses slow down along with the roll of his hips.

After a long moment he stills, and the room falls silent other than the sounds of you both catching your breath. His eyes don’t quite meet yours, flickering over every other part of you instead and finally up to your wrists. You smile up at him, all admiration of Spencer’s ragged appearance; the glow of his sweaty skin, the swollen lips and messed up hair. His jaw shifts as he unties the knots, working delicately to spare any further aggravation to your wrists.

“Was- how are-” Spencer lets out a frustrated huff of breath and shakes his head, then finally looks you in the eye proper. “How was it? Are you alright?”

Gently he takes your hands and sits back on his knees, massaging the skin. His fingers linger on the ligature marks, frown deepening.

You sigh happily as you surrender yourself to Spencer’s aftercare. Your skin tingles a little, a minor sting where the rope bound you, but otherwise there’s nothing but sweet post-orgasm bliss. “It was perfect,” you say, a lazy smile on your face. “And I’m _fine_ , Spence, don’t fret.”

“I’m not fretting,” Spencer murmurs, rubbing in a circular motion to stimulate your blood-flow. “I need to make sure you’re alright. It’s part of being a dominant. Are your wrists okay now?”

“They’re good,” you say, pulling your hands away from him to stretch your stiff limbs. “Thank you.”

The newfound freedom allows you to finally run your hands through his hair and you do just so, slowly threading your fingers through the mussy locks. He closes his eyes, humming contently in response.

“Yeah, I guess you’re a proper dom now,” you say quietly, pulling his head down for a soft kiss. “So how are you holding up? This was a pretty big change from the stuff we’ve done before.”

Before Spencer answers you, he rests his forearms on either side of your head and goes in for another kiss. His lips slowly move against yours, noses brushing together as he lingers. When he pulls away, his eyes are fixed on yours. “It was pretty interesting,” he says, voice still hoarse but regaining a speed that alerts you of an impending Spencer-typical ramble. It makes you smile. “The awareness that you trust me enough to put you in this type of situation definitely adds a new layer of intimacy. I wouldn’t be comfortable with it myself, considering past experiences, which only makes it more meaningful that you are.”

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face and you watch him quietly, giving him the space to put his thoughts into a structured order. Spencer is rarely this open with you, about his past, his job, his emotional inner workings. It’s just not the kind of relationship you have. You are alright with that, but it does make these kinds of moments all the more precious.

“Going down on you was definitely a new experience,” he says, lips quirking into a smile with an impish lilt. “I didn’t expect to enjoy the taste, but there was something about it. It’s hard to describe... a little bitter, perhaps?”

You bite back a laugh. An in-depth review of your flavour of pussy is not what you expected, though considering who you’re dealing with, perhaps you should have. “I’ll take the compliment.”

“You should,” he says, pressing another kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I guess it was a little stressful at times, being in charge like this, but I like to think I rose to the occasion.”

“Oh, trust me, you did,” you say, no longer holding back your laugh. You cup his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones, then pull him down to kiss his forehead. “Above and beyond.”

Spencer turns his eyes away with a bashful smile. “Hey, uh-” He clears his throat. “Is it alright if I take a shower here? I could really use one.”

“Make yourself at home,” you say, languidly stretching. You’re not quite ready to move from the bed yet, but Spencer prefers his showers solitary anyway. Nothing personal, just a focus on cleanliness. Though then again, at the start of all this you had not expected him to be into bondage either. Perhaps with time...

He shifts from the bed, removing the condom and tying it up as he goes. Despite the fact he’s about to shower, he puts his underwear back on anyway; there’s still a layer of self-consciousness to him, even considering the nature of tonight’s encounter. “You need anything first? Something to drink?”

“Hm. Water would be great.”

With that, Spencer leaves your bedroom but returns quickly with the requested beverage, just as you sit up straight against the headboard. You take it with a soft ‘thanks’ and he watches you take a sip. “Don’t forget to go to the bathroom,” he says. “For women, urinating after sex significantly decreases the chance of a UTI.”

You snort into your drink, almost spilling the water over you. “Yes,” you wheeze, patting your chest. “Yes, thank you, Spence. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spencer smiles and nods, his duty fulfilled, and with that he leaves you alone.

You sigh into the glass with a shrug. “Not the sexiest pillowtalk I’ve ever heard, but the man’s not wrong.”

“Excuse me, I consider factually correct information about one’s sexual partner’s health to be _extremely_ sexy,” Spencer calls from your bathroom, just before you hear the shower turning on, and that’s when you notice he left the door open.

Stifling a laugh, you finish the glass and stand up for your medically scheduled bathroom break. “Point taken, doctor!”

_Doctor..._

The word feels nice in your mouth. Perhaps another thing to experiment with, in due time.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, while I was working on this, a whole story around the relationship and dynamic evolved that I definitely intend to explore so there might be more to come in the future! (but I'm only in season 9 and on the fence on whether I want to catch up before diving entirely into the deep-end? I guess we'll see)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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